


It is a start, but is it good?

by Marsetta



Series: Early Changes [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Don't Question Life!, Early Changes, F/M, I suck at writing the correct period in words, Just go with what I wrote and, M/M, Multi, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 21:24:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6345874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marsetta/pseuds/Marsetta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron finds himself back in the 1920s, being blackmailed by none other than Tom Riddle, father of Voldemort, and healed by Merope Gaunt, mother of the same man. Why are things so complicated?</p>
            </blockquote>





	It is a start, but is it good?

**Author's Note:**

> So, I see you've come to this story, well, I rewrote this story, and if this is the first time you've clicked the link, you are welcome, I'm glad you won't have to read the crap that was here before this update.
> 
> Words now: 6323
> 
> Words before: 1985
> 
> You can just imagine how bad it was before.
> 
> Now, in this, we are all going to pretend that Ron was right next to Sirius when Bellatrix sent the curse at him, so Ron pushed him out of the way.
> 
> I don't own!
> 
> ENJOY!

Ron fell, his back hitting the ground at exactly the wrong angle, rocks, stones, and dirt digging into him; he could already feel the blood starting to pool out of the wounds made by the sharper pieces.

He couldn't breathe; the spell having hit him full on had stopped his ability to breathe for a short period, his lungs burning from the lack of air.

It took him longer than he should have to get to his feet, his hands gripping the bench he found to be next to him with deathly force, his knuckles white.

He was surprised when a throat cleared behind him, startling enough for him to lose his grip and fall bum first into the bench.

A man, tall, pale skin, dark hair and gleaming black eyes looked down at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Getting pissed so early on a Monday afternoon?" the man asked playfully, his lip twitching. Ron could feel his eye twitch, his breath still hard to catch, making him unable to retort.

"Got in a spot of trouble I see, something you couldn't handle, Hm," the man shifted his umbrella from one arm to the other, his eyes shining in mirth.

"You, could say, that," Ron answered, his breath coming to him easier every second. The man smirked truly, not trying to hide it now that he knew the man before him wasn't going to retaliate negatively.

"Where is it you we're headed before your little, mishap?" the man all but croons.

"I," Ron paused, he couldn't just tell this muggle anything, everything that happened before this point was done within the ministry of magic, a place no one in the muggle world should know about, plus, there was something about the buildings surrounding them and the way the man dresses that was striking Ron as odd somehow.

"I, don't really remember," he answered instead. He needed to know what was going on; one does not go from the middle of a fight to the middle of a park in a small town that looked nothing like any park he'd seen near London himself.

"Have you hit your head than, spot of memory loss?" the man leaned closer to Ron but didn't enter his personal space.

"I guess so, last thing I remember was," Ron tried to think of a suitable wound or scenario that would sound plausible to this man, "walking somewhere with a bag," Ron looked around, acting as if to find his bag. It was obviously not there, but he was able to muster enough woe about it being missing to fool this man into believing his story.

"Attacked by a thief I see, took all your worldly possessions was it?" The man rolled his eyes before switching his umbrella again, this time holding it in the grip of his right hand.

"I can't remember what was in the bag, I can't remember where I was going or where I was before," Ron frowned, scrunching his face up to show signs of deep concentration.

"This is usually the point where they ask me if they could borrow money or stay a few day in my home," the man told him, his eyes going back to sparkling, more like a man watching a good play than a man who believed the lie Ron noticed.

"Of course not, I'm only asking you to point me to London, so I can find my way back, hopefully I'll find out what I forgot," Ron really didn't want to go anywhere with this man, he needed to get back to London, he needed to find Harry and Hermione, needed to make sure they were okay and no one else got hurt in the battle.

The man looked surprised, like he had never heard those words from someone, like he expected Ron to ask for something of more monetary value.

"I, not this late at night, the next train would not leave until morning. Our small town is not known for its late night runs," the man announce, shaking himself from his surprise and giving Ron a genuinely charming smile.

"I would suggest getting a room at the inn, but by the look of things, you don't seem to have a lot of money; I insist you stay with me and my family, we have plenty of room in the house," the man offered a hand to Ron.

"I couldn't impose on you, I'll l just stay out here until morning and catch the train first thing," Ron told him, looking for a possibly comfortable looking grassy area. The man looked aghast; his features twisting abut before he contained himself.

"I insisted, it would be rude to dismiss the offer of a gentleman such as myself," the man offered his hand, fully intending for Ron to accept. But Ron couldn't, he had to get back to the ministry, needed to get back to his friends.

It was then that Ron noticed the paper sitting on the bench next to him. It looked a few days old and weather worn, but it wasn't the condition of the paper that gained his attention, it was the date, more specifically, the year, 1923.

"I, shouldn't accept," Ron started, his mind still processing what he just read, his blood turning to ice as he thought of just exactly the consequences of what he was reading,

"But it would be suicide to stay out in the cold all night long in your condition," the man finished for him, still holding out his hand. Ron sighed, it would; he was in no condition to stay out all night without decent clothes or even a blanket.

Ron sighed heavily before getting to his feet, his legs threatening to give up on him, making him wobble a bit before being caught by the charming man.

"I guess I have no choice. I just hope I haven't giving made the wrong one," Ron spoke softly, his lips in a tight line, his fingers gripping the offered arm. He just hopes that everything would work out.

"By the way, what is your name stranger?" the man asked, already leading him back to wherever he lived.

"Ron, that's, all I can remember, sorry," Ron smiled tightly again, not looking at the man.

"Well, Ron, my name is Tom, and I am glad to be of service," Tom assured him. Ron didn't really want to know why this random guy decided to help him, especially when it would probably be a lot safer for him to have left Ron alone.

"Then I guess Thanks are in order," Ron said, looking up to meet the man's eyes.

It was at that moment Ron knew he was screwed; he couldn't look away from the obsidian orbs, the sparkle of mischief; the glint of danger. He had, at the least, a very severe crush on this man, this man who was currently, very literally, saving his life.

"And I would like to think that you'd help me with a little something once you are back to full health," Tom replied, an easy grin taking over his face, that glut of danger multiplying.

"Yeah," was all Ron could say before he was lost, no more words could escape the black abyss that was unconsciousness. Turned out those wounds were a bit worse than either of the boys thought.

* * *

At fifteen years of age, living with two men who treated her like the worst muggle trash, Merope Gaunt was tired, she wanted nothing more than to leave her life behind and move on with the current infatuation, Thomas Riddle.

The man, while years ahead of her in age, was the most gorgeous man she had ever seen, his wavy black hair always perfectly styled and his eyes shining with a cunning she knew would make her ancestors proud.

Of course, the man is a muggle, which would not make her ancestors proud, at least, according to her father. Thomas was immediately dismissed as a candidate for her hand thanks to his blood status.

It didn't matter that he was older, or that he had a dame already, one who would hang herself off Thomas like a cheap tomato.

She had been tending to her latest set of wounds when she heard her Thomas talking lowly to himself, his breathing sounding labored to an extent.

Merope looked up, her eyes going to the slots between her fence posts, trying to see the man, but it was getting too dark to see anything.

She stood, careful of her wounds, and made her way to the fence, her eye peaking through the slats.

Thomas was dragging a body. Merope gasped, her mind going straight to the worst possible things, images she never wanted to think her Thomas could accomplish.

But then the body moved, an almost silent voice mumbling unintelligible things, his head moving a bit. Merope let out a breath she hadn't realize she had held.

"So heavy, couldn't pass out until we got back could you?" Thomas grumbled. Merope lifted herself to try and look over the fence, Thomas was looking down at the boy, his front facing her; she could see the strain on his face as he tried to lift the boy up the stairs without dropping him.

The boy looked hurt, a pained frown on his face as he was dragged.

Merope couldn't help but think negatively about the boy, his appearance dirty and his manner rude, really, who would just fall asleep knowing that he'd have to be dragged back?

She couldn't stop the glare as the boys finally made it inside, Thomas closing the large doors behind them.

She'd have to teach the boy a lesson, and what better way than to confront him in his own room, where he would least expect her?

* * *

Sneaking into the boy's window was easier than she would have imagined, the boy being dead to the world and no one else hearing as she lifted herself in.

Moving quietly over to the boy, she could only feel the resentment that he was carried by her Thomas while she knew she couldn't be until she sorted through everything, until she made him truly hers.

The boy's eyes opened suddenly when she got to him, his body sitting up so fast it startled her back, his lips parting to allow him to bring in deep, uneven breaths.

"Who are you?" the boy gasped out as he held his heart, his eyes on her even as he folded in half, trying to calm himself. Merope eyed him a second before answering, taking a step forward before taking a step back, unsure what she would do now that he was awake.

"I'm, Merope, Merope Gaunt," she didn't know what to do, her eyes going to the window she entered, than back to the boy, the boy who looked even paler than normal, his eyes wide and his lips parted once again, only this time in disbelief.

"What is going on in here?" Thomas was there suddenly, his hand gripping the door in a vice, his body language angry and slightly confused.

"Tom Riddle?" the boy asked weakly, his voice cracking slightly at the end of the name, his breathing picking up dangerously.

"Yes, how do you know my name? You gave me the impression you knew not my name when we talked in the park," Merope could read the dangerous aura surrounding him, the betrayal. She turned her eyes back on the boy, her eyes narrowing.

It looked like that didn't matter, the boy's eyes rolling to the back of his head, his body going limp as he passed out on the bed. She could help the gasp that left her lips, her body instinctually reaching out for the boy, Thomas right behind her.

He seemed fine, color returning to his skin, his breathing returning to normal. Thomas sighed, looking back up at her with narrowed eyes.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed out quietly, unwilling to wake the boy on the bed, now that she looked at him closely, he didn't look to be much older than herself.

"I- I, wanted to check on the boy. I saw you walking him home earlier this evening and was worried he might be hurt," she answered, looking between Thomas and the window. He looked at her skeptically, his lips pressing into a tight line.

"I should be going," Merope started, moving closer to the window, Thomas gripped her arm before she could move far, sending her heart into a frenzy.

"Wait, I need someone to care for him until he's fit again. Would you do that for me?" Merope looked up into his dark brown eyes, her heart slowing to a stop, making her feel like she was stopped in time, only her and her Thomas were standing in the room. She nodded before she could stop herself.

"I have to go, I'll be back tomorrow night," Merope promised, removing herself from the man's grip and stepping over to the window, her eyes flickering to the boy before she lowered herself out of the window, Thomas' eyes watching her until she was gone.

* * *

Tom didn't know what he was doing. Yes, he needed to get the boy to agree to be his servant for as long as possible, his family being in debt and having to let go of his last personal servant, but getting the tramp's daughter to agree to help him get his new servant back up to health? It was madness.

He had seen the way the girl looks at him, her disgusting eyes pointing in two different directions always sent a shiver down his spine and a sneer to come to his lips. She might not be the most disgusting human he had ever laid his eyes on, but she was close.

She may have been an easy target, getting her to help the boy so he'd be servant ready by the time Tom would need him was easy and cheap, but it also allowed the girl to be close to him, and that was a risk he wasn't a hundred percent sure he was willing to take.

It was too late now, his decision made for him by the heat of the moment, asking the girl to help him and letting her go.

Now to deal with the boy; he claimed to know only his name, looking confused when Tom asked him his customary questions for thieves and con artists, his genuine surprise when Tom asked him to come home with him, and that fear that filled his face when he spoke Tom's sir name.

Tom had never seen anyone like this boy, he was earnest and naïve and yet world wary and cautious.

His parents were pleased when he told them of the boy who saved his life, not that he had, and how he had agreed to stay and be Tom's man servant for nothing more than a room and food to eat. Of course, he had yet to tell the boy of this, but he was sure he could get him to agree, he only had to remind him of who saved who out in the park.

"Thomas?" Tom looked up from his desk, his book closed slightly as he turned to his mother.

"Yes mother?" He closed the book entirely; turning in his seat to look fully at her, her frame was small, giving her a thin waist and strong shoulders. Her stern face looked at him with calculating eyes.

"That boy, he wouldn't happen to be, untrustworthy?" Tom wouldn't doubt that his mother wanted to say something else, her eyes going to his desk and back to his face.

"I've only known him so little, though I would like to trust that he wouldn't do anything to bring you great disappointment," Tom told her, knowing from the little interaction they had that Ron would be easy to manipulate to a degree that he wouldn't worry about him stealing from them or trying anything disrespecting.

"I see, well, I simply hope you understand the dangers of allowing strange people into your home, especially a home as nice as ours," she told him pointedly before leaving him to his thoughts. Tom understood his mother's words, being who they were, and keeping their financial status out of the gossip, they are thought to be one of the richest families in town.

Tom took the time to glance around his modest room, everything pristine and expensive. It was a lie, but it was one he was willing to continue if it meant he would stay at his current position in the hierarchy of the town.

His plans would be either complimented or railed against the next day, and there was nothing much he could do until the boy woke, so he might as well not worry until then.

* * *

Ron could feel the pounding in his head first thing, next was the pain in his back and ribs, stinging in his arms and legs, and finally the low buzzing in his ears keeping all other sounds from registering.

A low keen was ripped from his throat as he forced himself through the pain and the buzzing, forced himself to understand what was going on around him.

"Awake at last, I am almost surprised you woke so early," Tom stood by his bed, dressed to the T, and ready to go out on the town at a moment's notice.

Ron couldn't stifle the groan, whether or not he wanted to, his body felt horrible, not to mention the mental strain going on in his head as he tried to process everything he remembered from the night before. Tom Riddle, Merope Gaunt. Why did it have to be these people? Why couldn't he bump into Dumbledore or even Slughorn, Merlin, he'd even take a Malfoy over this.

Tom eyed him, making Ron shiver from the intensity. Something shifted in Ron's peripheral vision, making him turn suddenly, not trusting the mysterious figure.

Merope was standing there with a bowl of water, a cloth draped on her wrist. Ron blinked; once; twice, Tom cleared his throat.

"Ron, this is Merope Gaunt, she'll be working here to get you back to health, after you will be working for me until you've paid your debt," Tom announced, a smug smirk on his face. Ron blanched; debt? Ron was sure he didn't owe anyone anything.

"I see you'll be working here for a while Miss Gaunt, your patient doesn't seem to be recovered very quickly," Tom address the girl, turning away from Ron. Ron couldn't help it, this was literally become too much, he didn't know how he could taking this much longer.

"Why don't you get some sleep," Merope was the only one in the room by the time Ron shook himself from much of the shock, a look of annoyance on her face as she helped him lie down. Merope didn't seem to like him much, her eyes avoiding him when she could, or glaring at him when she couldn't avoid his gaze. It was starting to make him feel unwanted. He didn't mind, seeing as he didn't want to be there, but his wounds were much more severe than he had thought at first.

Ron didn't like that Tom tricked him like this, but then, what else could he expect from the father of the most feared wizard of his time? Merope seemed alright, if you discounted the death glares and the rough handling, she was still helping him, and that was something, right?

Ron decided to just get some sleep, he'd need it to heal, and the faster he heals, the faster he can 'work off his debt' and get out of there. It's not a wise thing to stay and change history at all.

* * *

The days soon blurred together, becoming weeks, in which would become months; before Ron knew it, he was dressed as a manservant and follow Tom around within the home. When the older boy, because Tom turned out to be only three years older than Ron's own sixteen, wasn't at home, Ron would help out around the house, keeping Mary Riddle company when her husband was at work, or would help the cook in the kitchen, or help the only maid in the home with the household chores.

It kept him busy, kept his mind focused on things other than dwelling on what happened to him, on how things were going on at home, if Harry and Hermione survived the raid at the ministry, how his mother was dealing with his disappearance, no, his death.

He was surprised when he realized that he had been there for over four months, the time moving a bit too fast for him. He got to know Mary well, the two spending hours alone playing chess, she would give him this calculating stare that reminded him of several people from home, and her wit was so similar to his sister's.

Ron couldn't help but dwell on things when Merope was there at night, still using the excuse of checking up on him to get into the same room as Tom. It was something he could count on, Merope fawning over Tom, though that was something happening less and less once they started the scattered conversations while Ron sat in silence.

Everything is changing, and he isn't sure if that's a good thing or not.

* * *

Tom had kept a close eye on Ron since the day he got there, for reasons her is unwilling to disclose, and he was curious about his manservant's 'memory loss' he claims to be suffering from.

Tom has caught the redhead mumbling about brothers and trouble, sisters and drama, parents and loneliness; at first Tom thought that was because Ron wanted to remember, that he was trying to make up scenarios in his head about family he couldn't remember, but then Ron muttered about how 'Fred and George were never this bad', making Tom think the boy was holding back quite a bit.

Another thing he hadn't thought would be a problem, but now that he knows thinks should have been obvious, the boy's temper.

It first came out when his mother started to question him extensively, asking him where he was from, if he could remember the location or the setting, asking about his parents, if he could remember the touch of their arms around him, if he had any siblings,

Tom was sure she was trying to force some kind of emotional reaction, to force him to admit he was lying to them and tell them who he really was.

But it backfired, the boy had blown, his temper rising until his face was just as red as his hair, tears coming to his eyes as he yelled that he couldn't remember, and asking isn't going to bring the memories back. He had apologized of course, profusely and didn't argue a few more weeks added to the time he had to pay his debt back.

He was silent for days, only speaking when spoken to and only the minimum he could get away with. It was the longest few days in all honesty, having Ron there without him speaking, without the easy laugh or the quick wit, even Tom's father noticed and commented, and the man was rarely there, away at work long before Ron would wake to get Tom ready.

It took his mother apologizing sincerely to bring a small smile to his lips, and another few days of minimum words before he was back to normal.

It looked like Merope hadn't known, since Ron rarely spoke during her visits, tending to look lost in thought as Merope goes over all the healed scares to make sure they were fine. Tom doesn't think she needs to continue, but for some reason he didn't want her to leave just yet, he found that he enjoyed her company, she had a better sense of humor then most girls he knew, she was getting to a point where she would call him out when he said or did something she didn't like, he lov- enjoyed watching the different expressions on her face.

But the look of anguish when she set off the boy's temper made Tom want to chastise his manservant.

"Ron, are you feeling alright, you're looking a bit pale," Merope tried to feel his forehead, now that Tom looked, he was a bit paler.

"I'm fine," Ron answered, shaking off her hand and leaning back on the bed, his eyes watching the wall with something akin to deep sadness, anger, and self hatred. Merope must not have seen those and tried to get closer,

"I'm not so sure, you don't look fine," she told him, only to be shoved away from the red head, the look of anguish overcoming her features, as well as some fear, two looks he hated to see on her face.

"I said I was fine," Ron growled out before turning away from them, "please leave me alone, I have to wake early in the morning, I'd appreciate some sleep before then."

Tom held Merope close, his arms around her in a half hug, keeping her close just in case. Merope didn't fight him as he lead her to the window, she didn't say anything as Tom helped her out.

"He didn't mean it," Merope said quietly, her eyes downcast, "I provoked him, I saw how he was feeling and continued to provoke him." Tom was surprised, he hadn't realized that she saw the mood, and he didn't know how he felt about her purposefully provoking him like that.

"I think it's time I stop coming, it'd be best for all involved," she told him without looking up. She was just out of reach; Tom wasn't able to grab her arm before she was gone. He didn't like this feeling of emptiness, this feeling of sadness. He didn't want her to go any more than he wants Ron to go, and that feeling was scaring him more then he thought anything could ever scare him.

* * *

Ron hadn't meant to be so rude to Merope, he had been keeping their interactions somewhat neutral, and he even thought they were getting closer. But then Merope does something like this, provokes him intentionally to get a rise out of him, and it just was too much.

Its Ginny's birthday today, she'd be fifteen years old today, but of course, he wouldn't be there, they would have already moved on by now. He couldn't be there and it was killing him inside, and then Merope just come in and pushes, tries so hard to get him angry, or to show weakness, and he knew that she couldn't really do him any harm, but it was the fact that she was pushing all his buttons intentionally that set him off.

He would apologize, but by the sound of it, he had scared her away and she wouldn't be coming back. He could leave her a note, but with what information he had on her before he came and what he's gathered here, her father wouldn't appreciate that and would take it out on her.

He could send her a message some other way? Probably not, a lot of the things they use in his time haven't quite been established, like the fire calling; that would be a few decades more before it's used in every home, a letter is out, no matter how it's delivered, her father or brother could potentially find it.

The only way he could think of was telling her in person, but to get to her at any time would be hard, the only time she seems to get out of the shack was at night, after her father and brother were asleep. He couldn't figure out a time that they usually nod off, Merope having come at all hours, and once not coming at all, because of her own wounds.

He needed to leave, and he didn't care if he had a debt to repay, he couldn't stay any longer, he was already changing time too much, he needed to leave.

That night he packed fully, everything he had 'earned' over the months of working for the Riddles, all piled into a small bag with his wand, the only item that had survived the veil and the fight, his clothes having to be thrown away because of how ripped and torn and blood stained they were, no needle could have saved them.

He left a note for Tom before hoisting his things on his back and making his way to the Gaunt shack, his eyes and ears on high alert. No noise came to him; no suspicious movements caught his eye.

Slowly and quietly he moved, a silence he had never quite mastered while at school, but had mastered while working as a manservant who was to be there but not there, if that made any sense. Tom had pretty much told him how he was too loud and when they had guests over, he had to be like a ghost, silent and only seen when asked for.

He made it to the Gaunt shack pretty quickly, the lights all out and all exits locked down tight. Ron had to be careful, these are wizards, it was no matter that he was in the twenties; most of the security spells he knew had decent counterparts in this time, he couldn't afford to get caught, Merope couldn't afford for him to get caught.

Ron looked around until he saw a loose board on the side of the shack, it looked like it would permit the small fifteen year old Merope, so Ron took the chance and knelt next to it, lifting the slat slowly, wincing when it squeaked painfully loud to his ears.

Nothing stirred within, no sudden alarms were being set off; Ron sighed.

Looking in was almost as depressing as hearing about it, Merope never went into detail about her home, so Ron could only imagine, and this was worse than he could have imagined, not even Harry had such living quarters.

" _Merope,_ " Ron hissed when he saw the girl lying on her side, the only thing between her and the cold ground was a thin blanket; her shoulders quivering as she tried to warm herself. Said girl turned quickly, a startled gasp being strangled quiet. Merope's eyes narrowed, anger predominant in her obsidian orbs.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed back, her words almost inaudible. Ron winced, but strengthened his reserve; he needed to apologize before he left.

"I need to apologize, I shouldn't have snapped at you earlier," Ron told her, meeting her eyes, sure she could see the sincerity of it.

"Why are you telling me this now, couldn't you have tomorrow?" Merope looked up at him with worry, her eyes lit up in a mix of anger and fear, "you can't; you can't leave. Where would you go?" Merope started to stand; Ron couldn't allow he to come with him, so he took out his wand and stunned her.

"I'm sorry, I can't have you follow me," he told her as she went limp in his arms. Setting her down was the most careful thing he had ever done, careful not to hurt her. This was the last he'd see of her, and she wouldn't be able to fix history if she was hurt.

"Good bye Merope," Ron whispered as he made his way out, ready to hightail it out of there before Tom Riddle Sr. woke for work.

* * *

Tom knew right away that Ron was gone. Once sleep was shook off, he realized that he wasn't woken by his favorite manservant, the sun already streaming through his windows. He hadn't woken so late since Ron had started working, the boy had a tendency to wake early and keep Tom from over sleeping.

He knew that Ron wouldn't oversleep, not after the night before; there was something in the purple circles under his eyes that told Tom that Ron just didn't sleep well, and after what happened, Tom didn't think he'd sleep well for days.

No, it was no surprise to find the note on the guest bed, telling him that Ron would send any money he made until his debt was repaid, once he got a job. Tom rolled his eyes with a slight smirk on his lips. Ron really thought Tom wouldn't look for him? It wasn't about the money anymore; it hadn't been in a while.

Tom was startled when Merope knocked lightly on the window. When he saw her, she was looking left and right like a scared animal, her body scrunched in on herself, trying to hide behind the small bush that was blocking Ron's window.

"What are you doing here?" Tom questioned as he helped the girl into the room, her body lighter then Tom thought it should be.

"Ron came to me last night, I couldn't stop him from leaving, I was hoping you had an idea of where he went," Merope told him, looking behind her with scared eyes. Tom was feeling those feelings again, anger at something about Merope, but sadness and something else hot for the girl. It was all so curious.

"I do not. Do you remember what he told you last night?" Tom led her to the bed to show her the letter. Merope glanced at it, but didn't seem to know what it said; Tom had the sneaking suspicion that Merope didn't know how to read, and that made the mixed feelings worse, especially the anger.

"He only apologized before knocking me out, last I heard was he didn't want me following him," she told Tom while finally calming enough to sit on the bed without fidgeting. Now that Tom noticed, he realized that Merope never came during the day, only at night when most were asleep for the evening.

"So naturally, we will be following him," Tom spoke confidently, even with that feeling in him that was telling him it would be impossible, that Ron would be able o disappear without a trace before they could catch up to him.

"Naturally," the two shared a smile, one that told Tom that he wasn't the only one with doubts.

* * *

Merope was nervous, she was going to share her heritage with Tom; she had to, to find Ron. One of the only things she could do was Potions, it was one of the reasons her father hadn't killed her outright.

She stole one of her father's bags, the ones that are bigger on the inside than the out, and filled it with the things to make a scouring potion. Once the person was found, the gem, also stolen, would glow brighter when you were going the right way and wouldn't dull completely until you found who you were looking for.

"Tom, promise you won't get angry," Merope asked, she hoped he would keep the promise, even though what she would tell him is at most best, unbelievable, at worst, a sin.

"I tend not to promise unless I know what it is I'm committing myself to," Tom answered before sighing lightly, "but I guess I'll have to, seeing as it must be something astounding, if you are asking."

Merope smirked slightly before grabbing the bag with stiff fingers. This was it, she would be showing Tom; she'd have to tell him about Ron as well, if only so he would know what to expect if they found Ron and the boy didn't like it. She didn't think Ron would be angry, but she wouldn't put it past him to hex them a bit.

"I'm a witch," she told him, putting her arm halfway into the bag, well enough to show that it was bigger on the inside, and pulled out a cauldron, followed closely by a jar of flowers and other necessities for the potion. The last to be pulled from the bag was the white gem, a silver chain fastened to it to make a necklace.

"Tom," Merope looked up at the boy, her lip worried between her teeth. Tom was watching her silently; a small, quiet battle was taking place in his head, shown with a slight frown on his lips and a downward slant to his brows.

She left Tom to his musings as she made the potion, careful to do so, as best she could accord the book. Latin was the only language she knew how to read, she wished it wasn't so, she wished she could read the words on Ron's note, read what he told Tom and what Ron thought of her, but that was only the unreachable dream of a silly little girl.

By the time the potion was ready; Tom seemed to have snapped out of his inner most musings and was looking at her with a determination that made her glad she told him.

The gem was held over the atlas she had open, spinning lazily once; twice; three times was what it too before it locked onto Ron's signature, locking in on him and starting to glow.

"I've got it, are you ready to find him?" Merope asked, wishing she could say what she wanted to say truly, but afraid it would be too much.

"Ron is a witch too, isn't he," Tom asked, not really a question by the sound of his voice. Merope nodded with a worried smile on her lips. Tom took a deep breath before nodding.

"Then let us go find what is ours."

* * *

The small town was filled with gossip for the next few weeks, no one could have seen it coming; no one could keep it in when they talked.

"Did you hear? The Riddle boy ran away with the tramps daughter."

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was this. I hope you liked it, I was sure this would be more... era appropriate than the last one.
> 
> Oh well, I like it.
> 
> Quick thing, Should I change the name? If so,
> 
> Arrival in the Past, A New Situation, My Manservant Ron, Tom Riddle's newest Manservant, or even, What Have I Gotten Myself Into?
> 
> Or something else?
> 
> Mars


End file.
